Flawed Design
by luv.poffy
Summary: "Isn't it strange though," she smiled indifferently, her gaze never leaving the Grimoire she held between her palms, "that the truest tales are always the ones sounding the most suspicious?" HG/DM
1. Prologue

**********Summary: **After the Fourth Year celebration for the End of War, Draco Malfoy comes home to the Manor only to find out that his mother had been housing a guest for two weeks now, and it turned out to be the person they all assumed was dead. The person kept telling him that she did what she had to do and that she was willing to pay the price her disappearance had caused. He was fine with it. Well, that was before he got entangled into whatever problem she decided to solve herself.

******Author's Note**: This is an AU. Characters are a little out of character due to the plot. I probably will not be describing what happened to each, but show them through dialogue instead. I also like pizza, and popcorn.

**Disclaimer:** Me no own Potter Harry. This is merely a fanfiction to satisfy me me me me and hopefully, you you you.

_Waiting, always waiting._  
_If I gave you control would you say that we could've saved it? - Honest_

* * *

**Prologue**

It wasn't raining that day.

The ceiling of the reception was charmed to look the same as the weather outside hence the grey colored clouds, looming gloomily over them; it was a shade darker than his eyes.

It was still fitting though, and he preferred things when it made sense. That day held the fourth gala for the End of War, an annual commemoration for all Heroes and Heroines that lived and fought and died for the Light, for the better future of the Wizarding kind. It was supposed to be a celebration yes, but not everyone finds the sense of normalcy and inner peace not when this day reminds them of the people they have lost to the bitterness of war.

He still found himself there.

Dressed in his immaculate thousand galleon robe, he stood near the entrance with a flask of Firewhisky on his right hand, his eyes scanning the crowd for anyone he knew or at least for anyone whom he could be civil with.

"Malfoy!"

_Finally here then._

He turned to the source of the voice and for Old Time's sake had sneered, "Ah, Potty, Weasel, came to see the show?"

They were standing near him then, the two-thirds of Golden Trio. "Nice to see you too, Ferret." Weasley snorted.

"Real mature, Malfoy." Potter sent him a hostile look, but ruined the effect by shaking his right hand.

After the war, his mother had convinced him to finish his last year at Hogwarts before getting a spot in the Ministry, where he ran across the two-thirds of the Golden Trio. The three of them had gone somehow civil after three years of working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with the two dunderheads as Aurors and him by the Investigation Department. The cases they took over the years had warranted more than necessary interactions and he found that the two can be at least be tolerable so as long as they stick in Quidditch and not cross some topics that will definitely make the Suicide Buddies fume.

"Seen anyone you know?" Potter asked moving to stand next to him, exploiting their civility to the public and blatantly expressing his propaganda somewhere along the lines _of Prejudice can be overcome_ or _It's time to make peace with the Past_ or something like that. When he began working with the duo, he was fairly annoyed at their attempts. However, even he had gone tired of trying to uphold images so he just let whatever happen happened.

"Not anyone I'd like to talk to." He responded wryly bringing the tip of the liquor to his lips, taking a small sip. He wasn't even supposed to attend this year. The last three were already hellishly boring enough to warrant sleep and if only he didn't let his mother to trick him into agreeing, he really wouldn't bother. He'd rather spend the boring day in the manor and try to read a book or something.

The Weasley family, whom he was also now a little civil with, had joined them a few moments later with Fineggan, Lovegood, Longbottom and Thomas. They proposed to be poised at the clump of chairs near the podium and he reluctantly agreed, still a little awkward around people he used to label as Blood Traitors.

He'd have to endure all those Guests speeches about the war, those pretentious people talking like they even had any idea what the war was like, when all they saw about it was safe houses, pictures, and edited stories out of retelling and the promise of everything will be alright.

Soon enough, the Hero of Heroes, Chosen One, aka Pottyhead was called onto the stage to give his own speech. He thanked everyone there at that day for helping and for still being alive to date, saying that he was just one person and he wouldn't have done that much if it wasn't for the help he received from all the people he knew. He said the names of his best friend and his family with his Fiancée included, the teachers from Hogwarts, his friends, people who stood alongside him and never gave up on his sometimes overbearing and pompous ways. Then he said he wanted to thank the late Professor Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, Professor Snape, his Uncles, his parents, and his other best friend that was still unfound to date. His voice wavered at this, but he regained by saying that that person was like a sister to him and that that person was strong and alive and he'll surely find her someday.

The crowd was pin-drop silent at this. It somehow irked him to know that the not-anymore beaver toothed, know-it all was able to cause this much anguish upon people. It's been four years though; the chances of her even alive are ten percent close to none, and everyone there knew that.

He left as soon as Potter finished speaking, solemn in his gait back to their group. The cue of the journalists to start snapping pictures had resumed as he offered a half-hearted smile at Weasley, and the emcee took over the stage once more to introduce the next speaker. On his way out, he could still hear soft whimpers emitted from the Potter fiancée and he gave a curt nodded before slipping out.

These were the reason why he swore he had a mini heart attack after coming home from the event to find the insides of the Manor busy, their house-elves' voices squeaking here and there. He could hear the voice of his Mother as he ventured the hallway and nearing the drawing room, with a familiar voice lively answering supposed questions given. Pinky was even exiting the room giddily when he reached it and upon seeing him, greeted him warmly before rushing off to her destination without another word.

He was about to greet his Mother when instead, he saw a cloaked person who appeared to be none other than Hermione Granger staring back at him with a halted smile, her fingers pausing at the base of her hood.

* * *

Ha, first chapter! Interesting? Yes? Cream Puff?


	2. Reconvene

**********Author's Note**: This is an AU. Characters are a little out of character due to the plot. I probably will not be describing what happened to each, but show them through dialogue instead. I also like pizza, and popcorn.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Potter's biography.

_Your heart breaks hard_  
_When you don't have a plastic heart — Just Desserts_

* * *

The first few moments, he was sure he disgraced himself looking quite like a fish with his mouth opening and closing, wanting to say something but couldn't form words.

"Oh dear, he came home earlier than expected." Was what broke his thoughts and his gaze at this cloaked figure, whom he was pretty sure couldn't possibly be the woman proclaimed dead for years. He stormed into the room and yanked the hood when the woman tried to cover herself again. His glare met hers, his mother's voice vaguely being heard in the background.

"Mother," he began, his voice dangerous and low. "Who the hell is this person—"

"Let go of me." The _woman_ commented, stepping back and forcibly removed his grip from the cloth wrapped around her. She crossed her arms, her glare elevating into a deadly one. They stared at each other for another stolen moment before turning to her mother. "Narcissa, I know this may sound rude but can I oblivi—"

"Merlin, Hermione!" his mother exclaimed in aghast.

_Hermione? _What a coincidence.

The Hermione woman had the gall to look ashamed for suggesting but never met his gaze again. The manner in which they so patiently talked was irritating, so he shot a sullen look at his mother who thankfully noticed.

To his surprise, Narcissa Malfoy was suddenly nervous before him with her fingers fiddling, fist clenching and unclenching. She opened her mouth at last, but then turned to the woman now standing next to her,

"On the second thought, I think obliviating him does sound easier."

His eyes widened, "Mother!" and the stranger openly laughed, probably both at her mother and his reaction.

"Oh relax Draco, you know I wouldn't do that to you." She smiled slyly and gestured at the seats behind them. "Shall we discuss this over—"

"No." he snarled, he had enough. "Tell me everything now, because I want to know who this person is, and exactly _what,_ is she doing here." His index was fixed on the again-glaring woman.

A sigh.

"Let me answer this one." He gaze was intensely at the other then, waiting for her to continue. "I am Hermione Granger. We went to Hogwarts together and I was sorted into Gryffindor. I was friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley and loyally to them since first year. I helped destroy the most evil Wizard ever to try to take over the Wizarding World and if you still can't remember me, I was the person labeled by your lot as the bookworm and the Mud—"

"Hermione!" Narcissa hissed. "How many times do we need to talk about this? We do not hold the same—"

"—blood you always seem too keen to dehumanize."

"—beliefs like we used to! The Second Wizarding War—"

"I know." She was looking at his mother then, her face serious for a moment before it softened. "I know that Narcissa, and I'm sorry for saying that but I'm not so sure about your son. Before I accepted your offer, I knew the chances of running across him on the first few weeks are high and because we've talked about this, I know that he wouldn't tell anyone about my presence. But I won't tell him _why_ I'm here, not just yet."

"Wait a minute," his eyes narrowed, "'First few weeks'? Just how long have you been staying here?" His attention was split between his mother and the…well, supposedly-Granger, who were shooting each other glances.

"Draco, dear…" his mother began, and it pissed him off.

"Mother, how. Long? Why haven't you tell me anything about this? And why the hell are you hiding this… this mud— this woman!" He shouted with his index finger trained on Granger. "You're supposed to be _dead_! You've been gone for _four_ years! You can't just reappear and in _my_ house and suddenly civil to my mother! Today is the gala in commemoration for the War do you not know? Your friends—"

"I know what's happening to my _friends_." She hissed back, voice dropping to a similar dangerous level. He had always noticed this about her, since he liked pissing her off. When she gets too angry she doesn't shout like Potter does or break things like Weasley tend to do. Her words will turn venomous, and will require your full attention; else you'd be having a hex being sent to your way.

But he wasn't afraid of her before and still not afraid of her now.

He laughed, such a bitter sound. "Really? Then you should've seen how up until present, Weaselette and her little family of Weasels find it within them to grieve for your disappearance and yet you're here, busy lollygagging—"

"Shut. The fuck. Up. Malfoy before I forget that you're Narcissa's son and hex the shit out of you!" She took a step forward, hand darting to her pocket but never taking out anything. Her face was burning red in anger, and by his Mother's disapproving frown, he must have nothing better than hers. "What I'm doing for years is something that has to do with only_ me_. Harry and Ron and Ginny and the others had been through so much. I don't need them to be frustrated over my own business. Besides, I'm sure that if I come back and explain, they would understand!"

"Bollocks!" he fumed. "I've been working with your Potter and Weasley ever since I had the job at the ministry and you never had to hear them sound so pathetically mournful!"

She threw her hands up in a jeering manner, "Since when have you gone so soft, Malfoy? Look at you, calling them pathetic when you look as pathetic at them! I may have been traveling from a place to another but I've never been gone for a week in Wizarding England! I've always been here, in the shadows. I see them make faces when the prophet tries to get anything about me from them. I'm also dying to talk to them but not yet, not. Just. Yet."

They were glaring at each other eye to eye again, not wanting to look away and lose whatever game the other was playing.

Narcissa sighed at the two adults. She knew of course, that this would happen when the two meet. She had just not cared at the time when she made the offering. She squared her shoulders then, raising her chin at her son; the sign that she was now serious and not to be taken lightly. "Draco Malfoy. You will listen to what your Mother will have to say." He did turn his head to her, "I owe a Wizarding Life Debt to Miss Hermione Granger." She stopped and raised a hand to halt the other witch from protesting, knowing which information to give and which to hold. "Did you remember when I was gone for two weeks at Crete as my vacation leave was supposedly only one? I—"

"You almost _died_ just two months ago and you didn't tell me?" he asked, voice laced with anger and betrayal. "And meanwhile she…she… that Mudblood—"

"This is why she never wanted to tell you, you dolt. She knew how badly you would've taken the news!" Granger exclaimed.

"And how would you have wanted me to react? My mother almost _died_. Died!" he resumed glaring at her, "But oh wait, what would _you_ know? I bet you don't even have paren—"

"_**Expelliarmus! Levicorpus!**_" In a blink, both he and Granger were hoisted up to the air, ankles up. He turned sharply to also glare at his mother but surprised to find her sending him murderous glances. "What the bloody hell, Mother. You didn't need—"

"I have heard enough of your babbling, Draco. _**Silencio**_." He tried to protest but he lost his voice literally, and realized that the disarmed wand was not in fact his but belonging to the Mudblood. "And you are lucky I was just in time. She would've hexed you. Now," she paused, eyeing them both from below. "I will put you back down and we will drink tea like normal witches and wizard. Wiggy come on, it's okay." The cowering House-elf entered the scene then, placing a tray of teas and scones over the coffee table.

"Is… is there anything else the Mistress wants?" Wiggy asked nervously.

Narcissa offered the elf a calming small smile, "No Wiggy, you are dismissed. I will call you again if there is anything more I need."The House-elf smiled widely at this approval and bowed before apparating back to the kitchen. She turned to the two adults and casted the counter-jinx with a soft, "_**Liberacorpus**_."

The both of them had reached the floor foot-first thankfully, and Granger was not pleased at all. She straightened herself, hiding the Muggle clothes she wore underneath the traveling cloak before sitting down on the Slytherin-green chesterfield settee with silver linings. His mother occupied the loveseat diagonally to Granger, and still feeling a little angry at her, he sat at the settee opposite to Granger.

With another swish of Narcissa's wand, curtains were drawn and the Three-o'clock cloudy sunlight had peered into the sitting room of Malfoy Manor.

"That's better now, right? We should've done this from the start." He opened his mouth for a retort, but no voice escaped causing his mother to give a self satisfied smile at him. "I don't require that you like Hermione, Draco." She turned serious again, "But she had saved me back in Crete and I would very much like that you should at least tolerate each other and talk civilly. When she helped me, Hermione was—"

"Narcissa."

"Sorry." His mother smiled softly. He didn't miss the exchange. The way Granger's face contorted into miniature panic then settled into uncomfortable. "Well, what I'm trying to say is, you know that I'm a licensed Healer, right?"

His eyes widened at the confession. Licensed Healer!? Since when?!

"He doesn't know." Granger commented cheekily, biting down a strawberry scone. She seemed immune from his glare by now, because she stared right back with unflinching smugness.

"The Wizarding Life Debt exchange I offered her is her guaranteed privacy upon staying here, her own quarters, and that I will be required to heal her should she get wounded."

_What_?! Just _what the bloody hell_ happened in Crete that made his Mother owe _that much_ to a person of Muggle-blood? And for _how long_?

As if his mother heard his thoughts, she responded with a, "…for as long as she desires."

He lost his mind then and there.

* * *

She sighed as soon as her back settled at the soft cushion of the four-poster bed Narcissa Malfoy had provided her. The door opened no longer than five minutes later, with the Mistress of the Manor inviting herself to sit at the knole settee several spaces from the furniture she was currently lying on.

The Malfoy Matriach had offered to redecorate two weeks and six days ago, the first time she stepped into the place again since the incident with Bellatrix. She flat out refused, not wanting to be bothering the other occupants, mainly her son who was surely going to be suspicious if ever his mother suddenly decides to redecorate. A day later she was offered again, redecorating the room instead but due to exhaustion had ignored her and fell asleep within the next five minutes. These were the reasons why her room was untouched and similar themed as the rest of the guest rooms in the Manor. Spacious with Mantis green wallpapers, a darker shade for the ceiling, and white linings; her always-closed windows was fashioned with a flower patterned white lace. A rolltop desk was by the window opposite to her bed, now covered with properly organized parchments, except the recent ones she had acquired for the day. The floor was covered with fluffy cream textured plush and a one five by three feet pistachio green carpet near her bed. The settee was of a similar colour and she met Narcissa's worried frown when her gaze lingered there.

"Were you wounded?" was the first sentence coming out of her. Hermione accepted her wand that was disarmed earlier today at the confrontation with the other Malfoy.

"Yes." She had admitted, placing her hand on her lower right stomach. "But it's not too big. I've diagnosed myself to see if the spell had any lingering effects and found none. I used the basic healing spell you taught me to close up the wound, and hopefully it will heal on its own."

"Good, good." Narcissa trailed off, her eyes trained on her lap.

And she's not usually trailing off. Not unless something was troubling her, that is. "Is something wrong, Cissa?" she asked.

"Nothing, it's just… I suppose sometimes it's still quite unsettling, now that I had seen Draco's reaction to it."

She chuckled at the older woman's discomfort, "Have you forgotten that before we fell into this kind of comfort toward each other, you did nothing but to spite me? At Hogwarts, whenever our groups run across each other. Venice, March twenty-six of 2001. Next was Barcelona same year of June thirteen, then Krakow at Poland, December twenty—"

Narcissa gave a chagrined shrug, "I held a little different set of beliefs back then. After all, it _is_ difficult to change overnight all the beliefs strewn on you since birth. And about those meetings in random places, I didn't even know the person I was conversing to would end up saving my life."

"Conversing? More like degrading."

The older witch huffed embarrassedly and this made her laugh a little more.

After that they were quiet for another stolen moment, before the older woman spoke again. "How long are you staying this time?"

She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, "Three days. A week, give or take. I'd probably stop by the Ministry for another crusade, and then continue my search." Hermione snuggled against the mattress before turning her head to offer the other witch a solemn smile,

"Don't worry, Cissa. I'm sure I'll find my Mum before it's too late."

* * *

Sooo... introduction is done. Time to shape the plot. Cream puff for a comment, yeah?


	3. Beguile

**Author's Note**: This is an AU. Characters are a little out of character due to the plot. I probably will not be describing what happened to each, but show them through dialogue instead. I also like pizza, and popcorn.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything.

_First things first_  
_I don't wanna be forgotten_  
_Even worse_  
_I don't wanna be alone — No Grey_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"You look like shite, Malfoy. What the hell happened to you?"

That was generally how Weasley would greet him even if he needs anything from him, which was usually the only reason he came to the Investigation Department in the first place. His fingers stop his quill from scratching on the parchment, and he looks up boredly from the paperwork that was Fifty percent more interesting than the Weasel.

Hey, they decided to be civil but not act like best friends.

"Well?" the red head tosser prodded.

"It's nothing and rest assured, it doesn't concern you." He resumed writing, dipping the tip of his quill in black ink before completing the file for the Improper Use of Magic; a case given to him when a twelve-year old had decided to suddenly shoot out a stunner. The muggleborn-kid claimed his original purpose was to halt his mother's fall off a stool when she was putting away heavy objects to a higher cabinet, but had not understood the purpose of the spell so his parent still ended up with a fractured leg.

Weasley placed a folder on the side of his desk, and grinned cockily, "Having trouble in paradise?"

He wanted to tell him: _"Oh no, everything's perfectly fine. Just have Granger as a house guest, that's all." _But bit back the sarcastic comment. Instead he went with, "No, I'm just in no mood of humoring your idiocy."

Weasley shot him a glare. "Whatever Ferret."

"Ah, your comebacks are improving with each passing day, I see."

"Wanker. You're on our team again."

"So I've heard from Theo earlier this day and honestly, it makes me feel so giddy."

"It's nice to know you're starting to appreciate our efforts, Drake." He looked up again and found the devil this time, sauntering into his office in the usual Slytherin gait. If there was anything Post-War that could surprise him, it was Theodore Nott returning for their last year at Hogwarts and then signing up for Auror training. Although a year late, he was still usually teamed up with Potter and Weasley because of acing the Concealment and Disguise course. It made him a part of the MLE Elites – the unofficial group people claimed once complete, will be able to solve any case.

He, of course, was the Leader and Brain of the said group. Even if it's unofficial.

"Giddy. I feel so nauseated that I think I'm going to vomit. And that," he paused for effects, straightening on his seat, "Is merely at the thought of seeing the lot of you."

"You wound me." Theo said, while Weasley rolled his eyes. When the Slytherin wizard noticed this, he turned to the Gryffindor. "Oh don't worry, Weasel. You know he only says that. He's actually the most lovable loving and caring person in our team, remember?"

Weasley regained his composure in a blink and fixed a pleased smile on his face, "Yeah, what was that again, Malfoy? Somewhere along the lines off—"

"Go fuck yourself."

"Gasp!" Theo exclaimed dramatically, "Why Malfoy, I thought you're too classy for claimed Muggle expressions such as fuck! The horror!"

"Well," he sneered, swiping off the folder from his desk and scanning the contents, "I'm just a good friend and since you have now joined the Muggle-loving Fanclub, I have to use certain words you are surely to understand."

Nott is dating a Muggle-born for three months now so he ignores the jab, knowing he had nothing to reply to this. "Do you understand how much he cares for us now, Weasley?" Theo pats the Weasel's right shoulder instead, mothering a proud look on his face.

On the other hand, Ronald Weasley finds this amusing, when Malfoy and Nott settle into a friendly banter. The other always had something to say to the other and while he didn't like it when he's losing a conversation, he sure does love it when it happens to Malfoy.

But this isn't why they were here though; he knew he had to break the almost-shouting because if the Head Auror suddenly decides to burst in, they'd be in a big —

"Malfoy, kindly shut your traphole before I decide to take your wand and shove it down your throat. Same goes for you Nott. And Weasley, what are Aurors doing in this place in the light of the day? Aren't you one of the current Team head?"

The two Slytherins were still busy glaring at each other; he sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing them. "Nothing Hendrick. I've just came to inform Malfoy that he's going to be in our group for the next several months."

But when he opened his eyes, the Senior Auror had already left, leaving an open door.

"He reminds me of Moody somehow." he commented, turning to the two. "The Gala was just yesterday and he expects everyone to be as normal and tight." And then shrugged, "He probably didn't even lose anyone to begin with."

Malfoy groaned. "Suck it up Weasel."

"You do know you can't just mix personal affairs with your career, right?" Nott added, crossing his arms.

Shit, they're about to team on him—

"Of course I do. But I need to go. Lunch with Harry and Ginny." He hurried to the door, ignoring the unclear string of words bound to be insults to him and his hair colour. "You know the drill, Malfoy!" He called over his shoulder, preferring to continue the argument when Harry is around and it was two-versus-two.

He stopped on his tracks when he remembered something and called from the hallway, "Oh, and the team leadership might be passed on you! Might!"

* * *

_The night of the same date._

_"See files attached;  
I have been going through the case code GBFE512, case Mister Adrian Stone, the Twelve-year old Muggleborn Wizard that was alerted to have used a spell triggering the Trace. Said person had been brought in for investigation and by Prior Incantato, had been found to have cast a Stunning Spell in which he had claimed the first spell he thought of when he saw his Parent fall off a stool whi—"_

"I heard you were working in the MLE Department, but I never thought you're actually taking your job seriously."

His surprise caused his quill to make an improper stroke, and he looked up to glare at the source of the voice before Granger's face even registered in his vision. He pulled his wand from his pocket—

"You're not going to hex me, are you?" almost in a taunting voice, the annoying-suddenly-chatty, is-she-still-a-know-it-all asked.

He tapped the parchment and removed his error, before returning it into his pocket. "You're not worth it, Granger."

She seemed to have thought of something, pausing for 36 ticks of a clock before replying, "Touché."

He remember what she thought of then; it was the line she always said in pertinence to the Younger-him back when all he knew of the brewing war were taunts, jeering and pranks. He continued writing and ignored her as she sat diagonally to him, carefully opening a tattered Grimoire, the one in his Father's collection, if he has not mistaken.

"Why do you work?"

He mentally face palmed at the stupidity of the question, and Granger must have sensed her mistake when she added in a offended voice. "I mean you don't even need it. You should be helping Narcissa running that Multibillion-Galleon Malfoy enterprises instead. Seriously, she's beginning to have—"

"Granger, you're in a library."

She shrugged, "Yeah, so."

Yeah…_what_? She wasn't the Granger he knew. Albeit he didn't knew Granger to begin with but he does know that the Granger he knew would chastise him for speaking something longer than a single sentence, automatically deemed unnecessary and should be said later if they meet in the halls. He refused to ask what happened to her though, so he cleared his voice and went for a safer topic:

"What do you do for a living?"

"Lots of things." She answered quickly. "Mainly, completing tasks given to me. I retrieve files, deliver them, or look for ancient items. There are times that I am asked to track a person, or catch them. The rest of the times they ask me to dispose of the target."

His eyes snapped at her at the confession, eyes widening._ To dispose of…what._

She might have gotten a little self-conscious because she looks up too and their gazes meet.

"You kill people?"

And Granger merely licked her lips and shrugged nonchalantly. "If you want to put it that way."

"You're kidding." the words of disbelief escaped his lips before he could even contemplate it. Because she has to be. For what reason would the goodie-two-shoe Granger suddenly—wait. It that's how… then who is she working… and his mother… his mother.

He placed down his quill gently on the ebony mahogany table. The witch eyes his every move, waiting and observing him. "Why are you here?"

Without blinking she answered, "Because Narcissa invited me."

"Why did my Mother invite you?"

"Because she owes me a Life Debt."

"Why does she owe you a Life Debt?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because I saved her life."

"Why did you save her life?"

"Because I had to."

Her smile was widening, and he was getting impatient real fast. "Why did you 'had to'?"

"Because she was—"

He slammed his right hand on the table, rattling his ink bottle and echoing in the silence of the Malfoy Library. His voice was contrary to this action, for it was quiet, almost a whisper. "Granger, we both know that you're not stupid. You know what I want to hear."

"Narcissa is not a part of this, if that's what you're worried about." She offered, her gaze returning to the book. "And just so you know, I'm not a fugitive. Whatever work I'm doing, the Ministry knows of it. It's within the laws."

His eyes narrowed but chose not to ask anymore. Gathering his items, he left the witch; he didn't want her to think that he was interested in her life or for her to think of trivial things like he cared enough to stay. Merlin forbid, if she starts sharing life-experience like Weasel tends to do randomly or like Potter does when he's drunk, he would probably burn the Manor and apparate faster than she can say 'hey listen'.

* * *

_Three days later._

"Bloody hell." Were the only words escaping his lips as his eyes scanned the scenery before him.

It was a nightfall when he was called into the scene of crime. It was Weasley's voice who woke him from his slumber, his voice urgent and a little panicky. And now he understood why. Just by looking from the outside, the interior of the house was obviously ransacked. The door was blasted off its hinges, windows broken although some of the second floor was still fixed. As he walked inside, the wall papers were torn, some burnt and there was an area inside the sitting room that was still being put out of fire. Nott was there, together with fellow Magical Investigator Justin Finch-Fletchey, the Muggleborn Hufflepuff they went to school with. They were talking in hush voices and he took in the ruined settees, the overturn table and the shattered china cups.

"Draco.", "Drake." The two greeted when they noticed him. He nodded curtly in return.

"What happened here? Where are the others? Why are there only two of you?"

Theo found it within him to smirk, "Chasing the supposed criminal. Someone needs to baby sit _Justin_ though."

Finch-fletchey glared at him though it didn't reach his eyes, "I can take care of myself _Theodore_."

He clicked his tongue, trying to take the attention of the two before they went on to another round of banter. Whoever Theo was talking to, he was bound to have an argument with the person. "Did someone get hurt?"

The Hufflepuff turned to him completely, "Yes, it was Mordechai Mason. From what I've gathered he was a childless, spouseless, middle-aged man that was a Potioneer at this village's potion shop."

"Where is he now?"

"Sent to St. Mungos." Theo was the one who answered in a teasing manner, "Justin almost declared him dead."

Draco narrowed his eyes, "Almost declared him dead?"

"I panicked, okay? It was a moment of—"

"Apparently, he was given the Draught of Living Death. And this is the reason why," the other Slytherin Wizard boasted, "You should thank me and treat me your master."

"I will thank you but you are not my master." the Hufflepuff muttered angrily, and then turning to Draco, he said. "Must be force fed, it would explain the struggle."

He re-examined the room, more thoroughly this time. Crouching over the burnt part, he used his wand to poke around the ashes. "Have you seen what this was before it was set on fire?"

Finch-Fletchey shrugged, "It was blank. Probably charmed. We couldn't save the parchment though and little remained when we got here and tried to put it out. The newspaper that I assume fell off the end table was the one burning when you walked in."

"Alright." He finished and straightened himself, then began casting diagnostic spells.

What left him unsettled was that there was only a small amount of magic in the area and because of the aura it left, it wasn't even a curse. He moved to the hallway and redid the spell a few times until he covered the whole ground floor of the house. No grim aura. If it wasn't for the potion, he'd say a Muggle must have broken in…but then again the house was inside a Wizarding Village. So what must have happened?

He could hear the footsteps of his two team-mates joining them as they set to the second floor. "Have you checked the rooms upstairs?"

"Not yet.", "Wanted to though, Justin said to wait for you."

Another exchange of glares…but once they reached it—

Finch-Fletchey gagged, Theo murmured a soft, "Shit."

Even he stopped dead on his tracks, for the cream themed hallway to their right were two unmoving bodies several spaces from each other. The one nearer to them had a broken vase probably smacked on him and the other body had blood splashed on the wall. On the end of the path was a broken human-sized window.

His two team mates had rushed over each person, checking them for vital signs. Draco performed spells though...now this floor reeked of heavy curses.

"Fuck!" cried one of his team mates. His eyes darted to where Theo was, he jumped a space backward after trying to turn the— oh fuck indeed. The other man had its upper body torn from the rest, and his face was so broken and bruised it was barely recognizable. He heard the Hufflepuff suppress his vomit again, and say,

"This one is dead too." He turned to the nearer person then, and he tossed Finch-Fletchey a portkey and two to Theo.

"Wait, wait…Drake, are you serious?!" the Slytherin cocked his head sideward with a half-annoyed and half-bewildered look on his face, pointing the corpse. "This is your job! I'm the Auror!"

"You should've stick with the others then. But while you're there, can you check that man's cloak if he has anything?" While saying this, Draco was already searching the nearer man's pockets for anything but found none, not even his wand. Theo spat his own findings…it was the same as him.

So the three of them stood backward and watch the two bodies being portkey away to St. Mungo's Morgue, where it was said to be only respectful that they were at least tried to be identified and had their families informed before organizing burial.

They searched the four rooms on the second floor; all were clean and untouched, not even Potion ingredients or instructions doodles that were usually found randomly in a Potioneer's house.

There was nothing.

And it was really unnerving.

While they were heading downstairs to report back to the Ministry, Finch-Fletchey said in a quiet voice, "I've never seen anything like this. Usually, the criminal leaves something behind, or at least something of the victims. But it seems like everything important was taken away or vanished."

None of them spoke again, until they reached the front porch and Theo was looking up the sky, "This bastard isn't one of our everyday criminals."

"Whoever it is, he's a genius."

For some odd reason he thought of a certain witch he hasn't seen in three days since their meeting in the library, and he brought his palm up to rub his face.

_Oh bloody hell Granger, you better not be a part of this._

* * *

one word. popcorn! everyone loves popcorn! and reviews of course!


	4. Scintilla

**Author's Note**: This is an AU. Characters are a little out of character due to the plot. I probably will not be describing what happened to each, but show them through dialogue instead. I also like pizza, and popcorn.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything.

_You don't hear me when I say,_  
_"Mom, please wake up._  
_Dad's with a slut, and your son is smoking cannabis."_  
_No one ever listens, this wallpaper glistens_  
_Don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen. — Dollhouse_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

It had been a week since Mordechai Mason's case.

It took him a day and a half to wake up and another day for recovery. In the mean time, the team was wandering around the village, asking the residents relevant questions. The people claimed Mason was a gentleman, the potions he made were cheap but high quality and that they haven't even heard the old man shout, not even once. There was one businessman that said something suspicious though, he claimed that Mason was renowned for trying to find cure for the Memory Charm. When they reached Mason's Potion shop, they found no research notes for this 'cure'. The people also said that none of them saw any cloaked people running around suspiciously in the village. Only loud cracks of apparition that was a little common in their village.

The team decided it was best that Mason was asked of his relations for the two men that died within the second story of his house. But there also something that foiled that plan.

Mason was obliviated.

* * *

It was already mid-May when he saw her again, this time seated at his usual spot within the Manor's Library. She was staring up at the circle-top window, pushing at the table and balancing the chair on its two hind feet. She was muttering something softly, but he couldn't understand any word. The muttering increased speed as she closed her eyes, and he took in her form while she didn't realize he was there. Her hair had grown out of its wild curls and settled into poofy ringlets cascading to her lower back while wearing a dark-red long-sleeved knitted-cardigan, black circle skirt and the same color of stockings.

He mentally approved of her matured look, until he noticed a discarded Daily Prophet not far from her, and he felt his eyes narrow.

She must already know then.

"Who's there? I can feel you." There was a tap as she seated properly, but still not turning. "Narcissa, I don't feel well at the moment, let's talk later ins—"

"Funny Granger." He drawled, crossing his arms and leaning at the bookcase next to him. "I never took you as the type of person who would want to push someone away." He paused. "But then again, you did have the guts to leave everyone who genuinely loved you, so piss off me, huh?"

There was something that changed at Granger's demeanor just as those words left his mouth and he smirked.

_Well things have just gotten interesting._

It was his turn to occupy the spot diagonal to Granger, who moved her face away subtly, but not subtle enough for him not to notice.

"Oh, what's this." He said, picking up the prophet, unsurprised at the Headline. "You must've seen the front page already, hmm."

"Malfoy, what makes you think that I have a tolerance of your bullshit today?"

He shrugged indifferently, "I don't know Granger. Maybe because I'd be going to this event and you're not?"

"How the fuck is that even related?"

He scrunched his nose, "You swear twice as much as Weasley and Potter combined."

"_Don't. _Say. Their names." She was pointing her wand at him then.

Draco laughed quietly, but it was a sardonic one. He placed his knees against the table and pushed, making the chair stand on its hind legs like Granger did a while ago. He placed the prophet on his lap and opened to the page where the complete article was to be found:

There on the Headline of the Daily Prophet's special section lay the words, "_**WEDDING OF THE YEAR!**_...

…_**Union of War Hero Ronald Weasley and Zoe Accrington!"**_

He gave her a moment before saying, "You know Accrington was a Slytherin two years behind us. She was a pretty little girl who had reddish blonde hair who always wore a green-gem eyed snake brooch on the left side of her robe. She was quiet, timid, and modest but she knew when she should stand up and to whom. She's dutiful, responsible and has these Hufflepuff qualities. Weasley met her at one of the galas my Mother threw. I heard she has always like him since school but afraid to approach him due to the animosity of our houses. On top of that she's a pureblood." He spoke the word softly and slowly, letting every word sink in. "That's not just it though. Do you want to know what makes their bonding a little more…perfect?" He lowered the prophet and leaned closer to whisper to her,

"She's never going to _leave_ him like you did."

_**Thud!**_

Draco gave a feral grin as his chair fell to the floor with two legs gone, Granger hovering over with wand pointed at him. She was red instantly but he drawled, "Oh my Granger, you have to learn to control your temper. Mother won't like it if you hex me."

She was livid. His grin grew wider. That was until—

He watches her throw her wand away and was surprised when she yanked him by the collar with unbelievable strength and he took a blow at his left cheek. The impact caused him to bump his head again at the back of the fallen chair and he cried out a loud, "Bloody hell!"

"You would know what not leaving would feel now, wouldn't you?" she spoke with tremendous amount of venom laced in her voice.

He held his left cheek bone and glared back at her, vaguely noticing her broken hand. He was busy trying to comprehend the accusation she made of him. "What—"

"At least Ron had actually _loved_ me." She snarled, "How does it feel to be in a relationship knowing that your _Fiancée_," she spat, "is _fucking_ another man?!"

Something snapped right then and there.

"You don't know what you're talking about Granger!" he growled, shoving the broken chair aside and staggering to get on his feet.

"Oh, I don't?" She challenged, "You—"

"They're just friends! And you— who the _fuck_ even told you!? Astoria is—"

"Don't be stupid Malfoy! Stupid is not your colour!" she shouted, shoving a finger at him, "You know she's cheating on you for months! MONTHS! I—"

"At least I get to actually _be_ with her. And you? All you can do now is look at him from a far, knowing you couldn't even do anything even if you tried!"

She stared back at him with her chin raised to the air, wandlessly and nonverbally re-summoning her wand. "No Malfoy. I'd rather keep my pride than be with someone being sullied by another person."

"Get out of my sight." He hissed.

She was quiet then, staring back at him with narrowed eyes.

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he bellowed, shoving the items on the table to the floor, ink bottle shattering due to impact.

And Granger smirked at him. Leveled that mind-fucking smirk Voldemort would've been so proud of. She knew she has won this one, and he hadn't thought of how things would've back fired on him. She also knew about Astoria, huh? That ought to remind him that that filthy Mudblood shouldn't be taken lightly. Who knows where she's getting the information. Not from his Mother, that's for sure. All his Mother knows is that his relationship is sunshine and daisies.

But it's…not like he can just leave Astoria. Even if he wanted to. It just doesn't work that way. She was… because it was normal for Purebloods to have affairs before marriage right? She was still going to be his. So it doesn't matter whoever she's been befor—

"You already know, don't you?" she sneered from her spot, wiping the beads of sweat that was covering her forehead. All the action had done was smear blood from her broken fist. When he didn't answer, she laughed, a dry tone. "Un-fucking-believable. You do. Oh my, Malfoy. You're more selfless that I gave credit!" She paused, "But then again what you're doing…it's not selflessness but stupidity right? Something your lot had always tried to point out. Merlin," she shook her head, "you're spending a lot of time with Gryffindors."

She turned, her trek to the door way. At that moment all he really wanted to do was hit something, and it would be better for everyone if target is not her.

He noticed the ruined parchments on the floor then, and he recognized her penmanship enough to know that the scribbles didn't belong to her. He bent down to examine them and one word quickly ate up his attention.

"Graaaanger." He called out, gathering the four pieces of parchments covered in blank scented ink. Draco wasn't surprised when she didn't stop nor look back, so he continued. "What do you know about Mordechai Mason?" He was pleased when her head swung back so fast it would've snapped. He watch her watch him finger the edge of the paper.

"Shit." Her voice rose, but not enough for a scream, "Don't touch those papers Malfoy, if you know what's good for yo—"

Too late, he was already reading the words written.

—_in attempt to reverse the effect of the Memory Charm. I can finally say it's 64% plausible. I've prepared the cure through a trial and error method, li—_

It disappeared.

"Granger!" he cried out in disbelief, his gaze square on her again, "You…you took the files!? You're the one who raided Mason's house?! You're the one who…"he made an unintelligible sound, "Fuck, I knew there was a possibility that you were connected but for you to brutally murder those—"

She was standing before him, "Look, I did what I had to…" but trailed off upon the look on his face.

"No." he sneered, grabbing her by the arm. Granger whined softly, and he loosened his grip though it wasn't tight in the first place, "You're com—"

"You can't bring me with you, you dolt." She hissed, still struggling with his grip, "I'm under your Mother's—"

"—ing with me. I should've known it would be you! All the clues were... wait, what the—"

"—Life Debt and she would be in danger if you…You're hurting me!"

"Well I'm not letting go!" despite saying this, Granger is still able to retrieve her arm, and he paused for a moment when he looked at his hand because he felt it damp by red liquid.

"Fucking hell Granger, you're bleeding."

When he looked up again, she was already fleeing the room.

* * *

_Heheh. We've unlocked the idea of Malfoy-Greengrass relationship and Granger's participation in Mason's case. Or is she **really** a part of that? Who knows! _


	5. Denouement

**Author's Note**: This is an AU. Characters are a little out of character due to the plot. I probably will not be describing what happened to each, but show them through dialogue instead. I also like pizza, and popcorn.

Okay, okay. Sorry for not updating too fast. To be honest, I have the chapters written up until the 9th, but I just postpone publishing it due to my tendency of changing little more details. Yes, yes! Well, let's just continue the rant later at the PS, try to enjoy the story for now!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything.

_"Some secrets need to be kept_  
_Some stories should never be told_  
_Some reasons shouldn't be understood_  
_They just might turn your blood cold" — Dangerous to Know_

* * *

There was a whine ripping from her throat.

"Something had gone right for once?" dressed in Azure coloured robes, Pansy Parkinson drawled in the same air of superiority she had been using back in their Hogwarts days. She was sitting cross legged, a two-foot length of parchment on her lap supported by her left hand, sweets on her right hand. She didn't look up even when Hermione had stripped off her red jumper, revealing a white sleeveless shirt, and tore the blood-drenched bandage on her left arm.

"What do you mean 'good'? I don't even know what that word means." She answered sarcastically, still hyped up from her meeting with the Malfoy heir.

"What is this, Hermione admitting that she doesn't know something!? Wouldn't hell freeze—"

"Ha ha Blaise. Ha ha."

The room they were currently in resembled a normal sitting room with two circle-top windows parallel to each other, draped with dark floral patterned lace and charmed to display the weather outside the establishment. The walls were ecru themed, both sides covered with ceiling-height book cases, full and with some papers peeking out. Flesh coloured lanterns hung from the ceiling in a heap, lighting up the two camel back settee with several dark brown floral throw pillow lined against the windows. In the middle was dark-brown cherrywood coffee table littered with parchments of different size. Beneath the two windows were light green-cream vertical stripe recliner chairs, and the fireplace in between.

It was Pansy who designed the whole place, just two months after she had accepted the job and joined their nameless team. Hermione was rather content to leave the meeting room bleak and dry, but in order to avoid a Slytherin-themed one; she was forced to agree with this.

Blaise Zabini grinned cheekily, "Wait, why didn't you let Mrs. Malfoy fix it?"

She hopped down the three-step-stairs and sat at the nearest settee, along with St. Mungo supplied bandages, "You know busy she can be, I can't call her every time the wound opens. Besides, I'm quite confident I'll be able to discover the cure to increase recovery time for wounds caused by Dark Curses."

"You know, it wouldn't exactly open if there wasn't force." Pansy said, finally looking up and tossing her a roll of St. Mungo bandages Narcissa Malfoy had supplied. She smirked suddenly in realization, "Ran across Draco, haven't you now?"

She groaned, "I really don't want to remember that bloody Ferret. I had to vanish Mason's notes on the Memory Charm cure; it would've been pretty useful."

"If you ask me, I would say all it could've contained was dragon dung."

"Reminds me." Blaise began, "Haven't exactly talked to Draco for a while, but Theo has been in a foul mood recently about not being able to piece up the information. Why was Mason given a Living Death potion instead of getting murdered like those on the second floor of his house? It's bloody difficult to maintain a straight face when you want to burst out laughing. Seriously, using a real human to bait the Sypltis Brothers? I didn't know you could be so risk taking."

"Take the Red and Gold out, that girl can be a decent Slytherin." Pansy commented.

"Such a wonderful comment coming from the Queen herself." Hermione did a mock bow, mirroring the Slytherins' smiles but then she paused. "Aren't you...crossing some kind of sugar limits for today?" she pouted, using her lips in pointing at the still-ample pile of sweets with her lips while dressing her wound with the use of her wand.

"Oh?" Pansy raised a brow for a moment, before she understood. "Oh!" then she laughed, "No of course these are not all mine! I made them for you, since I saw the prophet this morning and found out Weasel— sorry I mean Weasley—"

"Pans, wait—"

"Is getting married to Accirngton. Seriously that man has no taste. But then again, anyone who would pine for him has also probably no taste so they would still be perfect for each other."

There was a pause.

"Way to drop the bomb, Pans." Blaise shook his head and plopped down on the sofa opposite to Hermione who rolled her eyes.

"I already saw it. And I don't need the chocolate. Merlin knows you've spiked it up with what—"

Pansy gasped audibly, "Granger! How could I!" but a stern stare later and she smiled innocently, "Weeeeell… maybe a dose of Love Potion First Sight,"

Unsurprised, Blaise prodded. "And?"

"And a bit of Muggle aphrodisiac?"

"God Pansy! Do you want me to just get it on with some stranger—"

Playing offended, the Slytherin Witch declared, "I was just trying to be a good… uhh.. co-worker with you and if my guess is correct, you aren't even experienced in the art of love making!"

"Wait," Hermione halted, raising her palm. "If those chocolates are spiked with love potions and drugs, then why are you…"

Realization dawned on them all. Pansy gaped, and Blaise burst out laughing.

"Fuck."

* * *

**Two days later.**

Potter stood at the other end of the conference table, his circle glasses removed and his fingers massaging the bride of his nose. That was how he held himself after tossing half-an inch thick folder with various attachments related to their current case.

"Something's up." Weasley was the one who spoke instead; standing by the window and drinking firewhiskey. He raised the parchment to read the article summarizing the whole quest. "Case Code FPRD283 Mordechai Mason. Mason was found in the ground floor of his house to have consumed the Draught of Living Death. On the second floor were two brutally murdered, wands taken or destroyed. There was no one within the Village who could think of a person with grudge to do such a thing, nor have they seen any suspicious person lurking. He was heard to have been studying the cure for Obliviate but shortly after his recovery, he was discovered to have lost his memories."

"Yes, we already know that, Weasley." Theo sneered impatiently, "Why did you call us here?"

"There's a break-through." Finally Potter spoke, sighing.

There were several occupants within the Conference room of the Department of Magical Laws and Enforcement that moment. Harry Potter, Auror, the one who usually receives the alerts and requests from their Head Auror. Ronald Weasley, Auror, the current Team Leader. Theodore Nott, Auror, known for perfecting the Concealment and Disguise course. Justin Finch-Fletchey, Investigator, one who is usually assigned to talk to people due to his patient and respectful nature. Azalea Denholm, Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, the one generally assigned to clear the scene off of civilians and/or Muggles. Cormac McLaggen, Hit Wizard, trained field-wizard. Draco Malfoy, Magical Law Enforcement Officer, one who qualifies for more than a Sub-Department yet currently assigned to the Investigation Department.

The seven of them form the MLE's Elites.

"Err… What exactly happened, Harry?" Finch-Fletchey asked, leaning closer. He was sitting diagonally to Potter, with Denholm next to him. McLaggen was opposite to them, foot propped on the table and smoking, nursing an uninterested looks on his face. Theo was sitting at the settee against the wall, holding a flash of liquor with his left hand.

Saint Potter and Weaselbee both shrugged. This caused Draco to groan, "Will you just cut the chase and tell them?"

"About—?"

"The Case was classified closed as of this morning." Potter said.

"What?" Denholm muttered. "But how—"

"The men were identified. It turned out to be the Sypltis Brothers, wanted for using Unforgivable on Muggles and Wizards, abusing them, and leaving them to die. They were up on the Mission Board as Class-S for two months now, but High Aurors and Hit Wizards weren't exactly fond of catching criminals that were expert in hiding themselves."

"Are you saying that it just happened that they broke into Mason's house, gave him the Draught and killed themselves?" McLaggen's eyes narrowed skeptically.

"Oh Merlin." Draco groaned, crossed at the three Gryffindors. "What Potter is trying to say is that the case is assumed close, with Mason magically catching the two criminals, and drinking the Draught due to lack of other explanations."

"That's exactly what had Harry just said." Ron rolled his eyes.

"It takes more than one explanation for you lot." He shot back, "And even I couldn't take the result. We could be working against a rogue who's feeding on information. The work is certainly far from mediocre."

Finch Fletcey turned to him, "Based on what?"

"It could be that we have a culprit whose goal is to steal Mason's cure, and the brothers just happened to be in the way." He paused, "Or the brothers and the culprit are working together but upon retrieving the files, the culprit killed the two."

_Take that Granger._

"A professional?" Theo groaned, head thudding against the wall.

"So it's impossible that Mason could've killed the two?" Denholm asked.

"Yes, that was just implied."

"Now that you've brought that up, we haven't also found Mason's wand, by the way." Finch Fletchey told Weasley, head craned back.

There was a short moment of silence, and it was Potter who said, "I can't shake off the feeling that this event is some kind of calm-before the storm."

"Yeah.", "Calm before the what?"

One last sigh, "It's a Muggle idiom."

* * *

_Charaaaan! I have now revealed the two ends of a stick... or are they really against each other?! Dun-dun-dun! Find out on the next update! xD_


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